'D'you think me helpless because of this?' The mystics master lifted his withered arm with his good one. Fyn went to protest, but Catillum didn't wait for an answer. 'There will be renegade Power-workers with the Merofynian army, each with their own basket of nasty tricks. I must protect our people.' He frowned. 'I admit, I'd hoped never to see this day…'
Turning on his heel, he left Fyn alone with the abbot.
'As for you,' the abbot smiled at Fyn, 'I know your fellow acolytes will be chafing at the bit to go, but we don't send boys to war. You can rest assured Master Oakstand will stop those Merofynians.'
A wave of relief rolled over Fyn. Piro would be safe.
For Fyn the early morning passed in a blur of preparation as the whole abbey was turned upside down. Despite this, he was troubled by a niggling worry that he couldn't pinpoint. By mid-morning the monks were ready. The musicians played as the warrior monks of Halcyon assembled in the square around the sacred pool.
'Dreaming of battle, Fyn?' Feldspar asked, coming up behind him as he hesitated on the stair. 'Come on. Master Oakstand's ready to leave. We can watch from the gallery.'
Others had the same idea. The long corridor with its arched windows was crowded with boys, acolytes and the oldest of the monks. Fyn chose a window embrasure where he could look down into the abbey courtyard. It held the finest of Halcyon's warrior monks. They wore white cloaks so that they would blend in with the snow and each man carried his weapons strapped to his back, along with his food, his bedroll and skates. Every tenth man carried a small pot for cooking and a small medical kit, while every hundredth had a small forge. His task was to repair weapons. Halcyon's warrior monks were a highly disciplined fighting force, and ready to die for King Rolen.
Fyn's heart swelled with pride as he imagined the monks skating down the canals, racing faster than a horse could run through snow, racing to defend Rolencia.
And Fyn thought of the people who relied on his father and the monks to keep them safe. The farmers would be repairing their fences, getting ready to put their cows and goats out to pasture, and sharpening their plough shares. On the mountain slopes they would be repairing winter's damage to the terraces, eager to sow their crops. This was no time for war. The truth of an old saying hit him:
'They do look fine,' Feldspar whispered, wistfully. His hands rested on the window sill, knuckles white with tension.
Hawkwing leant closer, his four-fingered hand resting on the ledge next to Fyn. When Hawkwing spoke, his voice was too loud, and his eyes were bright with excitement. 'The best we can hope for is that the fighting lasts past spring cusp. Then we can prove ourselves!'
Fyn nodded, but in truth the thought of war sickened him. If he was lucky the warrior monks would hold Overlord Palatyne until his father could defeat Rejulas. Then King Rolen would march on the Merofynian army, who would surrender and their king would sign a new peace treaty.
He caught a glimpse of Galestorm and his friends, down amongst the warriors, along with Firefox and Hotpool. Although he felt relieved to see them leave, he had to wonder how many of them would be coming back. Hopefully, Halcyon would protect the mystics master and Oakstand. It would be too much to ask that only his enemies fell under Merofynian swords. But he could hope for Feldspar's sake. Then it hit him, if he ran away from the abbey now it would confirm the whispers. Even his friends would believe him a coward.
But what could he do?
'The mystics master took a sliver of the sacred flame with him. Halcyon will protect them,' Feldspar said.
'A sharp sword and keen wits are a man's best protection,' Hawkwing insisted. 'Halcyon helps those who help themselves.'
Foxtail pointed. 'There they go!'
The monks marched out the gate and Fyn took comfort from the thought that at least Rolenhold was not under siege, so Piro was safe.
'Your turn, mother,' Piro said. They had begun a game of Duelling Kingdoms, Piro playing the King Rolen piece and her mother King Merofyn. 'None of my warning beacons have been lit.'
Aware that both the guard and the Affinity warder could hear every word, Piro was careful how she phrased things. Her father had decided it would be safer, when she visited her mother, if Autumnwind waited by the open door. His reasoning was that if the Merofynian Power-worker took over her mother again, the warder could save Piro. And he had forbidden her to discuss the situation in Rolencia, fearing the Power-worker might gain knowledge of their preparations for war and use it against them.
Piro wished she'd never used that ploy to hide her mother's Affinity, but even now she couldn't think of another.
While they played, Seela sat by the fireplace, tutting and humming softly. The rhythmic creak of the rocking chair soothed Piro's fluttering stomach.
Her mother studied the game board. 'Since your soldiers have not lit the beacons in time, my warriors can advance, but where — '
'Dovecote is in your path,' Piro said. The longer this went on, the greater the danger for Dovecote in reality. Her gaze flew to her mother.
Queen Myrella nodded once.
Piro wanted to ask if she believed Orrade and Garzik were captives or worse, but she dared not. Frustration and fear welled up in her.
Seela began humming a jolly midwintering song. The main character was a roistering warrior who was popular with the ladies, reminding Piro of Byren.
'I know.' Piro smiled. 'I'll send my faithful captain of the honour guard to alert Halcyon Abbey.' She moved the captain. There was no kingson in the game.
'A difficult journey with my warriors deployed across the valley,' the queen whispered.
'He is clever and brave. He'll get through,' Piro assured her mother. 'Your turn.'
'I have three Power-workers. I choose to deploy them with each commander. They will be on the alert for your warriors on their missions.'
Piro nodded. Merofynian commanders always travelled with renegade Power-workers. But Byren and the Dovecote brothers had no Affinity so their own Affinity could not be turned against them.
'My go.' Piro turned over a wild card. 'Ah.' Swiftly she read the card and found a way to use it to warn her mother. She moved a warlord off his spar and put him on Rolenhold, saying, 'Ostron Isle is always sending surprises with its wild cards. And this one is much more dangerous than I thought. It gives my player the ability to shield himself from those with Affinity and so hide his true nature.'
Would her mother understand the implication? Cobalt had hidden his true nature.
'I fear you are right. How will I warn my king?' her mother whispered. 'He must beware false advisors…'
Piro nodded. But what could she do? She was only a child. Her father would never listen to her.
And so the game of Duelling Kingdoms went on. If there hadn't been so much at stake, Piro would have enjoyed tricking the guard. As it was, she finished up the game, assured only that her mother knew how serious things were.
They hugged at the door holding back tears, while the guard and Autumnwind looked the other way.
'Take care, Piro, I fear you may have to be as fierce and brave and your namesake,' her mother whispered.
'I'm not brave at all,' Piro admitted. 'I thought I was, but I'm not.'
Her mother placed one finger under her chin, tilting her face to look into her eyes. 'We are all as brave as we have to be. Have you any idea how many times I cried myself to sleep when I first came here, a captive of war, surety for my father's honourable intentions?' She smiled through her tears. 'And look what came of us? Rolen and I have been happier than anyone thought possible.'
Until now, Piro thought. Her unspoken words hung in the air. She would burst into tears if she wasn't careful. 'I must go.'
Her mother released her and Seela gave her a quick hug. 'Take care, Piro. Your mother wants you to have these. Remember, a queen always carries her keys of office.'
Seela pressed a ring with a bundle of keys into her hands. The guard glanced swiftly at the heavy key ring but did not intervene since the key to their tower room had been removed.
